Close Calls and Interventions
by MyImmortal329
Summary: An examination of Carol Peletier's nine lives, and how each close call becomes a part of who she is in the end.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead, comic series or television series._

_Warning: This story includes violence and mention of spousal abuse._

Close Calls and Interventions

Chapter 1: 1st Life

Carol Peletier's hand shook as she sat against the bathroom door, legs curled under her as she heard his thundering footsteps in the next room. His alcohol-fueled rage had started in the kitchen, ended with her in the bathroom and send him reeling down the hallway, knocking happy-family pictures to the ground in broke frames.

She felt the blood trickle down her chest as she held her shaky hand against her neck. It was a minor cut that could have been so much worse, but she'd found the strength inside of her, and she'd fought back. For the first time in their twelve years of marriage, she'd fought back, and she'd found the strength to push him out the door. It had made him furious, murderous-angry, but she'd locked him out, and she knew he'd sleep it off and be better in the morning.

She stood, knees wobbling as she made her way to the sink, slippered feet sliding over broken shards of mirror. She rubbed the back of her head, where he'd slammed her into the mirror, breaking three-quarters of it before bending her painfully backward over the edge of the tub, hands around her throat, jagged mirror shared clenched tightly in his fists. It wasn't all her blood, she realized, looking down at her stained, white bathrobe.

Sophia had been staying the night with a friend. It was a Friday, after all. And that meant Ed had been at the bar with his buddies. They'd led him drink a little too much, and Carol knew those nights were the worst. They were when his breath was so strong with scotch that it made her eyes water when he got too close. They were the nights he'd toss her around like a sack of garbage, kicking and beating her like she was nothing.

Tonight was different. She'd been washing the counters after cooking his favorite meal. It was something she did on the nights she knew he'd be late and drunk. It was her way of trying to please him and curb the anger she knew he'd feel when he came home to her disapproving looks. She'd tried not to look disapproving, but she supposed it was something that came natural, something she couldn't change, because the harder she tried to look meek and passive, the more it seemed to piss him off. But never more than tonight.

He'd come home, and she hadn't heard him. She always made a point to listen for him, but tonight, she hadn't heard the door open. She supposed she'd been lost in thought, humming a tune she'd heard on the radio that had gotten stuck in her head. She hated when that happened.

He'd been furious when he'd caught her swaying to the music, and he'd grabbed her from behind, demanding to know why she was so happy, accusing her of being a whore and screwing around while he was making an honest god-damned living to put food on her table for her and their worthless daughter.

He'd dragged her up the narrow stairs, smacking her along the way, forcing her onto the floor to crawl to the bathroom like a dog. He'd kept a hand firmly on the back of her neck, holding her down, pushing her toward the bathtub. He'd pulled her to her feet, and she'd stumbled, angering him even more. Her world began to spin after he slammed her head into the mirror. The loud, clattering, crackling pops that filled the air were even more disorienting than the pain.

He'd shoved her down, bent her head over the back of the tub and pushed the piece of broken glass against her throat. Her eyes had widened, pouring into his as he clenched his jaw and threatened to end her life with just a tiny flick of his wrist. He could do it. She knew it. It was then that something had distracted him, perhaps a late-falling piece of glass from the shattered mirror, and in that moment something inside of her had risen and forced her to fight back. Her hands had grabbed his arms and pushed him off of her, something that was easier than she'd expected. When he was drunk, his hands were like concrete blocks on her, heavy and hard and unyielding.

She'd screamed at him, and he'd stumbled backward just enough that she could get him out of the door, and then she'd locked him out, collapsing into a heap on the floor, feeling the blood trickling down her chest. She'd survive. She knew she would. She would survive him until she couldn't anymore.

Now, as she looked the remaining, fractured part of the mirror, the distorted image showed her soul, broken and bleeding and breaking out of herself to find a way to live. Live with him. Live with this life. It was all she had.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – 2nd Life

Rick Grimes' truck jostled as he hit a pot hole. Nobody spoke. Lori was asleep in the passenger's seat, and Carl leaned against her, fast asleep himself. Sophia was curled up, lying across the seat, head resting against her mother's leg. Every once in a while, Rick would look in the rear view mirror, and her eyes would meet his.

She leaned her head back and watched as the daylight slowly faded into dusk, and she gently ran her fingers through her daughter's hair, something she'd done as a way to sooth her ever since she was little. She'd run her fingers through her hair, her fingertips gently caressing her scalp, letting her know that her mother was there for her, and she always would be.

_She doesn't deserve to die like this_. Carol felt the tears sting her eyes as she looked down at her little girl. Sophia had seen too much bad in her short life. Carol had always tried to hide the bruises from Ed's beatings, but she wasn't perfect. There were times when Sophia would wake up crying in the night, asking her mother if they could just leave, and they would. They'd go to a shelter in Atlanta, and they'd stay a day or two, but it never lasted. Carol choked back the taste of bile as she inwardly scoffed at her weakness. Part of her hated herself for never being strong enough to leave him. She hadn't been strong enough for herself. She hadn't been strong enough for her daughter.

"Thank you." Rick's words cut the silence, and Carol's shoulders jumped with surprise. Her gaze met his in the mirror, and she swallowed back the lump in her throat. "You saved us today."

"It was your grenade," she said meekly, looking down at Sophia's sleeping face.

"I'd forgotten about it. You kept it, and you…you're the reason we're still here." Carol said nothing. She just put her head back, and she put her hand over her heart, feeling the way it pounded so fast beneath her breast. She felt the anxiety bubbling up inside of her, but she forced it back with all of her will. Whatever strength she'd had in her seemed to rise up and float away, and she felt empty and exhausted and like everything was spinning out of control.

She'd saved them today. Saved them to what? A life of being hunted, being hidden, being hungry and cold and frightened?

She closed her eyes and took a few deep, calming breaths, thinking about everything they'd learned today, everything they'd lost. Jacqui had decided it was better to die than to face another day in this harsh, new world. Jenner had likely- been driven mad from solitude and had convinced himself that choosing death was the only way to conquer the epidemic. Carol realized, as she began to drift off to sleep, that embracing death was only one way to find peace. But living? Living and fighting until the very end was the only way she could go on. She had to go on for her daughter, and she had to believe that there could be more to her life than being Ed Peletier's abused wife; Ed Peletier's meek little doormat. Living life with him had been a fate worse than Hell, and she was free now. Free of him, free to find her way and guide her daughter and pray like hell that tomorrow she could wake up and find a kind of peace that others had been lucky to have found before the turn, before the world turned into a waking nightmare.

She looked over her shoulder at the trail of headlights behind them, and then she settled back down against the seat. She'd saved them today. This was her family. This was her chance for something more, and even with all of the horrors surrounding them, she was willing to take it.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: 3rd Life

All she could remember was watching helplessly as the walkers swarmed her and Andrea. She remembered seeing them fall over Andrea. Then she'd began to run, something inside of her fighting that instinct to just freeze up and let go. She certainly could have. She could have ended the pain of knowing the horrible death her daughter had endured. She could have ended the wondering of what would happen, she could have just let it happen, but that would be giving up, and she couldn't do that, not when Daryl had fought so hard to look for Sophia. He hadn't given up on looking Sophia. She couldn't give up on herself.

She's stumbled toward the wood-rail fence, her calves aching, her lungs burning. She tripped over a root that stuck up out of the ground, and she fell hard against the fence, her head banging into one of the rails. Dizzy and aching, she sat against the fence post, images of the fire and the herd of walkers swarming the farm blurred together. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be ok, and when she opened them, she saw a figure looming over her.

She opened her mouth to scream, but only a choked sob escaped, and she scrambled up, her fingers clutching at the fence posts.

"Get away," she begged, knowing it would do her no good. She pulled herself up, scraping her knuckles in the process, and she dragged herself toward the little gravel road, putting distance between herself and the walker just as another walker grabbed at her from the darkness.

"No!" she screamed. "Help me!" She ducked out of its grasp and began to run until her legs gave out, and she had to stop for a breath. It was then that she heard the faint rumble of Daryl Dixon's motorcycle coming closer. She froze, seeing the single headlight coming closer, and it was then that she realized this might not be it after all. The closer he came, the more terrified she became, as the walkers inched toward her, reaching, snarling, biting.

He pulled up, hollering for her, and she ducked out of the reach of another walker.

"C'mon! I ain't got all day!" he called gruffly, as she pulled herself behind him on the motorcycle, and he drove off leaving a trail of walkers following slowly behind them.

Her arms held tight around his middle, and she rested her cheek against his back for a moment, letting her breathing return to normal. She could feel him breathing hard as they sped down the road toward the highway, and she closed her eyes, feeling the wind whipping against her face, feeling that satisfying freedom from the clutches of death wash over her.

At some point, Daryl slowed the bike to a stop.

"Y'alright?" he asked, peering over his shoulder as she lifted her head.

"Why'd you stop?"

"You're shakin'." She pulled her arms away from him, realizing her entire body was, indeed, shaking, and she looked up into his eyes.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "Thank you."

"You bit? You scratched?" He hopped off the bike, his hands instinctively moving out to her arms, where blood was beginning to dry from the scratches she got when she fell. Her eyes met his.

"I'm fine. I fell. I'm not bit." She let out a slow breath, and Daryl chewed his bottom lip. "We should keep going. The others might be waiting." A beat. "Are you ok? Are you hurt?"

"Nine lives," he said with a chuckle, pulling his leg back over the bike and starting the engine.

"Like a cat?" she asked with a little chuckle. He didn't answer her, but she smiled a little, pulling her arms back around his waist. "If we get nine lives in this world, I think I've already burned through a couple."

Daryl revved the engine, and he took off with her again, speeding off as a stray walker reached out, clipping its hand on the side of the bike, flesh and bone tearing away from its arm, leaving it snarling in the exhaust of Daryl's bike.

_Infected_. Carol shivered as she sat by the fire after Rick Grimes made his startling confession. He knew they were all infected, and it took Shane's death to prove it to him. There was no hope for an after. All there was was this. Live until you're dead, and then pray to God that someone has the decency to put a bullet in your brain so you don't come back.

"He lied to us," Carol murmured. Daryl tossed a piece of straw into the fire. Somehow, it had gotten stuck in his boot at the farm, and he'd been rolling it between his fingers for the longest time..

"He had his reasons, I guess," Daryl murmured.

"What reasons? One of us had to die before he got his answer." She bit back a sob.

"He's a good man," Daryl insisted. "He got us this far." Carol turned to him, her hand jerking slightly at her knee as she suppressed the urge to reach out and touch him.

"He's a good man," she said with a nod, "but you? You fought for my daughter. That makes you a hero."

"Ain't nobodys damn hero," he grumbled. A little smile curled up at Carol's lips, when she saw the hint of a blush filling Daryl's cheeks..

"You're mine," she said softly.

"Stop."

She ducked her head, smiling before shifting her gaze toward the fire, watching the wisps of flames crackling, popping and yawning toward the heavens, swallowing up the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: 4th Life

It had to be the coldest winter in Georgia history. They'd traveled north far enough that they were being hit with some bad snow and biting winds, and it was all they could do to find food and keep warm. Daryl had been going out on a lot of hunting trips, and Carol often tagged along to get a little shooting practice in.

She was getting good with a gun. She was steady and sure, though she didn't always hit her target. But, each day, she showed great improvement and promise, and she would feel flutter in her stomach when Daryl would give her a half-smile and blush and tell her how good she was getting.

But today was different. Today, they'd left the group behind at the storage units to go kill something for breakfast. It had started out as any normal morning with Daryl pointing out the various animal tracks in the snow. But it wasn't long before animal tracks became muddled with human tracks. More precisely, walker tracks. And then blood. That was when they came across a pack of walkers devouring a deer like hungry wolves.

Their eyes met, and Daryl held his finger to his lips before nodding toward a group of close-set trees. Carol followed his lead, walking slowly through the snow, trying to be as silent as possible. The way the walkers snarled and gnashed at the deer, she was certain their focus was completely on the meal, but it wasn't wise to make assumption when it came to walkers. It was never wise.

They pulled themselves between the trees, almost wedging themselves in to hide themselves. Carol felt Daryl's hands against her waist, and she sucked in a sharp breath, as he pressed into each other, eyes meeting for a fleeting moment before the flush of pink rushed over Daryl's cheeks. Even in a moment of panic, he was still blushing from touching her. It was sweet, and it almost made her want to cry. She'd seen rare glimpses of the man behind the hard, redneck exterior he'd presented. He wasn' the angry asshole he let people see at the beginning. He was a good man. He fought hard to take care of the ones around him, just like he was protecting her now, pulling her close to hide them—hide her—from the walkers.

And then her knife dropped. She realized in that horrible moment that it had come loose from her belt, and she felt her stomach drop and her heart race the second the blade hit the side of the tree, the tiny _ting_ barely audible. But it was loud enough.

_Shit._

A walker looked up from the deer carcass, snarling as it spotted Carol and Daryl huddled together between the trees. It rose, clamoring toward them, blood dripping and flesh falling from its teeth. Carol gasped and stumbled backward, and Daryl pulled himself out.

"Run," he demanded, reaching down to grab Carol's knife before sprinting after her through the snow. And that was when another herd came out of the trees just yards ahead of them, probably attracted by the blood from the deer.

"Daryl!" Carol called out, stopping him. He stumbled slightly, his feet skidding over the thick sheet of ice under the snow. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the woods, but in that moment, a walker came out from the right and grabbed onto Daryl's arm. He yelled out as the walkers squeezed his arm, and tugged at him, trying to get a chunk out of him. "No!" Carol reached for her knife, realizing Daryl still had it and was hacking at the walker, unable to get an angle on its head.

She looked around frantically, finding nothing she could use to fight it off, so she did the only thing she could. She rushed at the walker, knocking it off its feet. It let go of Daryl, and he scrambled back, panting as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes wide with fear as Carol toppled over with the heavy corpse.

Carol's eyes blew wide as the heavy body knocked the wind out of her. Her head slammed into the icy ground. Hard. As the world blurred and spun around her, somewhere in the back of her mind, the tinkling sound of shattered mirror falling on a tiled, blood-spattered floor echoed. Her hands pushed blindly, willing the body off of her, willing it to stop, willing the assault away as the decaying lips pulled back to reveal gnashing teeth and a pale, dry tongue.

"Carol!" Daryl yelled out, scrambling for his crossbow as her legs kicked out and she weakly fought back as her pulse pounded and her chest burned, aching for breath. She finally felt the air rush back in her lungs when she used her knees to push back. The walker slumped over her suddenly, its weight pressing her down, and she felt blood trickling down her neck. Nothing flashed before her eyes in that moment. Everything just slowed down, and she realized that this was it. This was how she was going to die. But she wasn't done fighting yet. She pushed, and the walker rolled off of her, rolling onto the hard snow in one clumsy move. Sticking out of the side of its head was an arrow with green feathers.

"God," he murmured, pulling her up to sit, his hands moving over her shoulder, pulling back the layers of her coat to examine the blood. He sighed heavily and bowed his head as Carol clutched his arm. "You're ok."

"I'm not bit?"

"It's his blood," he murmured, nodding toward the still body. "You're…oh fuck." He wiped at the blood with his bare hands, and she put her hand over his.

"Thank you."

"The hell were you thinkin' jumpin' on him like that?" Daryl asked, zipping Carol's coat back up and cleaning his hands off in the snow. Carol blinked at his words, her mouthing opening and closing for a moment before she found the words.

"I didn't think. I just…I didn't want you to die." Daryl sighed and slumped down in the snow next to her.

"Don't gotta be a hero. I'd a'been ok." Carol nodded her head and looked away, feeling her pulse beginning to slow. She felt a nudge on her shoulder. "Thanks." She smiled at him and shrugged a little.

"It was nothing you wouldn't have done."


	5. Chapter 5

5th Life

_We're all going to die. It's just a matter of when_.

She blinked in the darkness, knowing it was useless to even keep her eyes open. But keeping her eyes open meant she was staying awake, and with the throbbing in her head, she knew she very likely had a concussion, and she knew falling asleep wasn't the smartest thing to do in that situation.

She couldn't remember all of it. She remembered running. She remembered T-Dog urging her to run. She remembered all the blood when T-Dog got bit, and she remembered the sinking feeling in her stomach when she realized that such a good friend was about to die.

She remembered running, calling out, crying for help. And then she was in the dark, and she could hear a walker coming toward her. She remembered feeling its cold, bloody hands on her, tugging the scarf off of her head. And then she'd been backed up against a door that budged as she pressed herself against it. Wedging herself inside, she closed the door, shutting herself inside, and then she'd collapsed onto the floor in exhaustion and terror.

Hours passed. Possibly days. She didn't know. She was thirsty. She'd used the corner of the small room as a bathroom, and she knew she must have run out of food in her stomach to vomit up, because after the vomiting came the dry heaving, and now she just lay curled up next to the door, body aching, stomach rumbling with ache and hunger, and all she could think of was how her friend T-Dog was dead and how the rest of them very well could be, too.

All she could hear were walkers in the hall. All she could hear was her own life winding down.

The darkness was painful. She had tried calling for help, to no avail. Her throat was now hoarse, and it hurt to even attempt to speak.

_Lori needs me. What about the baby? I've been practicing._

She thought about Sophia, about how she'd wanted to give up the moment her daughter walked out of that barn. The only reason she hadn't given up before then was because Daryl hadn't. Daryl had gone out looking for Sophia, putting his own life on the line. He hadn't given up, so she hadn't either. But when Sophia had stepped out of that barn, it was like the world dropped out from under her, and she'd wanted to just curl up and die right along with her. He'd been strong for her, and when all hope was lost, she'd struggled to find her footing and keep herself standing.

Somehow, she'd managed. And she was stronger now. But she hadn't even the energy to push the door open. Something lay blocking it. Banging on the door was of no use.

She drifted off, hours passing, possibly only minutes. Gunfire echoed through the corridors, and a glimmer of hope remained. She pushed against the door, and it gave way, briefly. Her hands were heavy as lead, her legs unmoving.

_Is this what it feels like to die?_

A while later, her eyelids fluttered open. The stead _tink-tink-tink_ of metal against concrete stirring her from her half-sleep, half-death. She moaned softly, her neck aching as she turned her face toward the sound, parting her parched lips to cry out, only finding a raspy breath escaping.

It took every bit of her strength to put her hand against the door and push a couple of inches, only to find the door come swinging back toward her. She sighed and tried again. And again. The sound of metal against concrete grew louder, more violent, and then she heard shuffling footsteps, pacing footsteps.

_Who's there? Sophia?_

And then a loud bang, and the steel door groaned against its hinges. Her head lolled forward, and she felt herself slipping under again.

_I'm sorry, Sophia. I'm sorry. I'll see you soon._

And then a rush of cool, fresh air poured over her, and light filtered into the dark compartment. She heard the hiss of a blade through the air, stopping short. Then a hitched gasp. She turned her head toward him, and she squinted into the light, her lips parting an attempt at a thanks. His eyes bore into hers, and he blinked a couple of times, as if he wasn't sure she was real.

_Daryl_.

His fingertips gently guided her chin, and she reached up, curling her fingers around his wrist.

"Oh God." The words came out choked, and he knelt down, pressing his fingers against her wrist to feel her thread pulse. "Let's get ya outta here. Can ya walk?" Her head lolled to the side again, and she closed her eyes.

_Ain't nobody's damn hero._

_You're mine._

"There you go again," she said weakly.

"What ?" he asked, scooping her up gently into his arms. She snuggled against him, her head resting against his shoulder. And she was out without an answer. The last thing she felt before passing out was his arms hugging her close as he carried her away from her tomb.


	6. Chapter 6

6th Life

Carol groaned, slamming back against the side of the building as she held her shoulder, the ache and burn tearing through her, taking her back to those nights Ed came home drunk and in the mood to beat on her and force himself on her. She bit her lip, dodging out of the way as the walker advanced on her.

With a frustrated growl, she backed herself up against an old, rusted door, thinking that if she got just the right tool, she could probably pry it open on its hinges. But she didn't have time for that. She ducked away just as the walker turned on it, hands outstretched, starving, much like she was.

She looked up, seeing an old window a few feet up. If only she could just climb up, she'd be able to jimmy it open so she could squeeze inside. She pulled herself up onto the dumpster, her shoulder aching and searing with pain. She pressed into the wall, hoping that would pop it back into place, but no luck. She'd have to do it all herself later, something she'd learned to do in her years of marriage to Ed.

Her foot slipped on a collection of rain water that had gathered on top of the dumpster lid, and she slipped, her head slamming back against the wall as her legs flailed out from under her. She cried out as she tumbled off the dumpster and onto the ground, where the walker was waiting, looming over her, arms coming at her through, teeth gnashing.

Carol held her breath as the stench of rotting flesh filled her nostrils and made her stomach turn. She'd gotten used to it, but somehow, this one was different. As she'd fallen and looked back up into the dead eyes of that corpse, she realized how little hope there really was, and for a brief, faltering moment, she wondered why she even tried. Why bother? She was alone. She was banished. She had nothing left to life for, no one to live for, but that was the rub of it, wasn't it? She could be surrounded by a hundred people and still be alone. They didn't carry what she did. They couldn't. She was the one.

The white, hot pain from her shoulder snapped her back just in time for her to reach for her knife and press it through the eye of the walker. A stream of cold, green puss flowed over her hand, and she rolled out from under it, clutching her stomach with her free hand as she vomited onto the alley pavement.

After she composed herself and pulled the knife out of the walker's skull, she rushed down the alley to an old paint can that sat rusting and filled with rain water. She dipped her knife inside, washing off the walker muck before rinsing off her hands, feeling the cold water jolt her into complete awareness.

She bit her lip and stood, grabbing onto her upper arm, leveraging herself between the building and the fire escape ladder that squeaked and threatened to break off with much more force.

With a little more effort, she popped her shoulder back into place and sunk to the ground, panting hard as she realize how close she came—how close she let herself get—to ending it all. Her stomach was unsettled, and all she could do was feel what she felt when Rick had dragged her out to gather her own supplies for her own car for her own journey into exile. Alone. Sick. She felt sick. She felt useless and like the world was out of control. She'd had control when she'd killed Karen and David. They were dying. They might have infected the others. Her family. She couldn't just stand by and do nothing. She'd made a choice, and instead of giving her her family, it had taken them away.

She resisted the urge to cry as she had when she'd pulled the car over and sobbed at the idea of never seeing baby Judith or hearing her giggle again. Never seeing Daryl and feeling the way he made her feel when he looked at her when he didn't think she was paying attention. These were the moments she craved, and they were gone. Taken from her. And she could have taken them back, but at what cost? Rick didn't respect her, and the others would follow his lead. It was over, and she had to move on. She had to keep living, because if she stopped for one second, she gave her life to the walkers, and she couldn't settle for that.

A snarl from nearby alerted her to the presence of more walkers. Sheathing her knife in her belt, she pulled herself together and took off running. She'd find something. Somewhere. Someplace safe. And as the ache continued to throb in her arm, she realized the safest place she'd ever known—the place she'd taken Sophia to escape Ed occasionally—was a women's shelter. Yes. She knew right where it was. She was close. And as she weaved through alley after alley before she found her car again, she sped off toward that place of solace, praying that it would be a place of comfort for one night at least, praying that the memories of Ed's fists and Sophia's cries would stay locked up somewhere in the back of her mind. All she wanted to do was sleep. Rest. Survive. She had to keep moving. She had to keep breathing. Whatever journey awaited her, she had to go through it alone, and she had to be ready.


	7. Chapter 7

7th Life

_"We ain't ashes."_

_Carol could feel his eyes on her as she stood by the window, looking out over the deserted Atlanta street. Her shoulders slumped as she thought back to the last time she slept in this room, the night she thought she might die, the night she'd never felt so alone in her entire life. _

_She took a deep breath and moved to the bed, sitting down next to him, laying back, staring at the bottom of the top bunk. And then he lay down next to her. She'd wanted him to hear her heart, she'd wanted to tell him so many things, but there were always interruptions. She'd wanted so many things, and now was her chance._

_"I killed Lizzie. She killed Mika, and she was going to kill Judith." He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow to watch her face as the tears slipped down. "I failed them."_

_"Stop."_

_"I promised their father. I didn't see it. And then there was Mika. She reminded me so much of Sophia. . She was…she was sweet. She was good. Innocent. And Lizzie took that away. She took her away. And…"_

_"Hey. It's ok. It's ok."_

_"It's not! They're dead, Daryl. They're dead, because of me."_

_"I know you," he murmured. "You did what ya had to do." He reached over, stroking her face, wiping away her tears, and she wrapped her fingers around his wrist. Their eyes met, and she felt that familiar longing in the quickening of her heartbeat._

Carol's eyes fluttered open, and she felt a pounding in her head. Her memories were garbled, and she knew it hadn't happened. She knew they hadn't talked about it. He'd tried with her, but she'd shut down. She couldn't talk about those children, about the weight of that little dead girl as she and Tyreese lowered her into the ground. It was too much.

Tears stung her eyes as she thought about all the things she hadn't said, all the things they'd had the opportunity to say. _I need you. _

She blinked, her eyes unable to focus on much of anything. She could hear voices nearby, perhaps in another room, a familiar voice that reminded her of music, but nothing was clear. He wasn't there. That's all she knew. And the way her body ached with even the slight movement of a fingertip made her ache and made the pounding, throbbing in her head worse.

_"You're still here. Tryin'."_

"Daryl," she murmured as her blurry surroundings turned black around her and she faded out of consciousness once more.


	8. Chapter 8

8th Life

"The hell were you thinkin'?" Daryl asked as he hoisted Carol up into his arms. He huffed and looked upward at the young woman on the watch tower. "You gonna stand there or open the damned gate?" The doors creaked open, and Daryl carried Carol through, grunting and hoisting her into the back of a pick up that sat just inside.

The gates slammed shut in their wake, and Carol grabbed her ankle, hissing sharply as the pain shot through her.

"That walker was right on you, Daryl!" Carol shouted.

"So you go all GI Jane and jump the fence? You just broke your damned ankle!" He gently undid the straps and laces on her boot before sliding it off, grimacing at the sight of her ankle already purple and swollen. "You coulda broke your neck." He gently ran his calloused fingers over her neck, and she winced in pain. "Almost did. Fuck, Carol! What's the matter with you?" He saw her blink back tears as if she'd been struck, and she took a deep breath and a step back. "Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't…"

"Just take me home. Please." Daryl sighed heavily and he picked her up again, holding her close as he walked down the street to their home. The house was silent when he opened the door and walked her into the living room, depositing her on the couch. "You're angry." She watched him as he paced the room. "I'm sorry."

"I had 'im. You didn't have to do that."

"I know," Carol murmured. "It was instinct. I just…I reacted, and I guess I didn't think about it until I was already down."

"You gotta stop puttin' yourself on the line. 'Specially for me."

"I _love _you," Carol stressed, watching as his pacing slowed. "If I'm gonna put myself on the line for anybody, it's gonna be you." She reached for his hand and tugged on his arm to get him to sit down next to her on the couch.

"You fell, and he was on you."

"But I got him," Carol pointed out.

"Yeah, but he coulda got you. Another half-second, and he woulda got a chunk out of your neck, and I'd have to…" He balled his fists up. "I can't."

"Daryl," Carol murmured softly, her hand on his back. "I realized a long time ago that there's nothing promised. _Nothing. _So if I'm going to risk my life for anybody, it's going to be the man I love. The man I share my life with. You." His hand relaxed against his knee, and she laced her fingers with his.

"I can't lose you. Just promise me you ain't gonna go leapin' off no more walls."

"I promise," she said softly, as he moved to kneel in front of her, taking her other boot off and gently brushing his fingers over her other ankle.

"Gonna have to keep you off this for a while. Definitely broken. Least you're ok." Carol smiled a little, and she gently ran her fingers through his hair. She watched as he took her hand in his and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Love you too damned much to see you get yourself hurt for me." Carol took a shaky breath and pursed her lips together before leaning down to kiss him tenderly.

"You'd do the same for me."

"S'different."

"No it isn't," she murmured, stroking his stubble-covered jaw. "You've been my hero for years, Daryl. Let me have this."

"Oh, I see," he chuckled. "This some kind of female empowerment thing?" Carol rolled her eyes.

"Damned right," she laughed, as he pulled himself back up onto the couch and pulled Carol's legs gently across his lap. He scooped her up, kissing her gently, relishing the feel of her hands gliding over his shoulders and back. And then she grimaced against his lips, and he pulled back.

"Yeah, we ain't doin' this right now."

"No," she pouted. "Probably not a good idea."

"I'll get the painkillers and some of that tea ya like so much." She scoffed.

"I don't want the painkillers. I'll be out for a day."

"And ya won't be leapin' off no walls either. Better make it a double."

"You ass," she snickered, as he pulled her in for one more kiss. And then the pain started again, and she sighed wearily. "Alright, painkillers it is."

"That's my girl," he murmured, nuzzling her neck before he gently scooted her back onto the couch and headed into the kitchen to get what he needed to take care of her. Carol lay back, her head against a pillow, closing her eyes and smiling despite the pain, thankful to have these moments with him. Even if it had been a stupid move in retrospect, she'd do it all over again if she could. His life meant more to her than anything, and she'd save him every day for the rest of their lives if she had to.


	9. Chapter 9

9th Life

"Don't," she murmured, gently stroking his back as they lay curled up together, their limbs entangled, hands caressing. The last tear had yet to be shed, but for now, their emotions were in a lull, but his eyes were starting to tear up again. She smiled a little as she stroked her fingers through his hair, in awe of how grey he'd gotten over the past few years. "You cry, I cry."

"Ain't you the one that told me I had to let myself feel it all them years ago?" Daryl asked softly, a little chuckle in his voice. He knew his wife through and through. She was trying to make the moment light, but his heart wasn't quite in it.

"Did I say that?" she asked softly, taking a deep breath that caught and hitched in her lungs. Daryl propped himself up on his elbow, caressing the side of her face. "I guess I'm pretty wise sometimes, huh?"

"You need water?"

"No," she said softly. "I'm fine."

"You ain't fine."

"Well, fine as I'm gonna be then," Carol said gently, as Daryl stroked the side of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. "You should get some sleep."

"Ain't sleepin'. Gonna see you through this." His eyes were heavy and had dark circles around them. He hadn't slept more than a few minutes at a time since the fever hit. And there they were again. The tears. She bit back a sob as a hot tear slid down her face, and Daryl gently pressed his lips against her temple, stroking her cheek softly, collecting the salty droplet with his thumb.

"It's alright," he whispered. "You don't gotta be so damn brave." Carol smiled through her tears.

"Please. I'm just trying to keep you from turning into a mess." She nudged his shoulder again, and the chuckle that started to rise from him turned into a sob, and he buried his face against her shoulder. She stroked his hair lovingly. "Shh."

"Don't wanna do this," he sobbed, grasping fistfuls of the bed sheets, his body shaking as he tried to still his nerves.

She closed her eyes as she felt his tears scorching the flesh on her shoulder. A small smile spread over her lips as she caressed his neck and his back, and she found that her own body relaxed as she comforted him.

Fifteen years. It had been fifteen years since they'd found the salvation of the safe zone. Fifteen years since their firsts. First kiss. First time they shared that bed. First time they'd admitted their feelings for one another. They'd made love that night, getting to know the few things they had left to get to know about one another.

After all of the loss, all of the pain over the years, the one constant in each of their lives had been one another. For Carol, that last run with him had been worth all the pain in the end. They'd spent some much needed alone time together, and even though in the end, they'd done everything right, took all the precautions, an unexpected loose bolt on the cabin door had led to the herd getting in, getting to them, getting at her. The bite had been quick, not much blood, but it had been enough, and there was no cutting away the tissue to save her. The bite was on the back of her shoulder, too far to the center to be able to do anything about. It was bandaged and packed with gauze, but the fever was in her now, and it was only a matter of time.

"You're gonna be ok," Carol whispered, gently pushing at his shoulder, forcing him up so she could look into his eyes. His lip trembled, and he shook his head, tears falling from his eyes as he looked at her. "Hey. You will be. You have to be."

"I love you. Don't wanna do this without you."

"Hey. We've had a good run. We've had a lot more than most people have. We got lucky." She kissed the tip of his nose, trying to coax a smile out of him to no avail. "Help. Help me sit up." He pulled one arm around her back, helping her to sit, and she winced as the pain in her would began to throb.

"What can I do?"

"Just listen to me. I don't want you wasting anymore painkillers on me. No more medicine. It's almost done." Daryl shook his head, pulling his hands around her waist, needing to feel closer to her. Carol leaned in, pressing her lips against his forehead. "You cannot shut down. Do you hear me? You have to keep going." He blinked back the tears, and she reached for his hands, taking them in her own. "A long time ago, I had the chance to just lay down and die. I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, bloody and beaten, and I had a choice to make. I could walk out the door and take my daughter with me, or I could stay and let Ed beat the hell out of me. He almost killed me, and I knew he could if I pissed him off enough." She sniffled. "I made the _wrong_ choice. I stayed. And then some crazy twist of fate brought you into my life, and you were the one who taught me what it was to fight. Even when I wanted to lay down and die when Sophia disappeared, _you_ kept going. I need you to do that again. I need you to not make the choice I made when I let myself be weak and stay with Ed."

"You're the strongest person I know," Daryl murmured hoarsely, his jaw trembling as he held his emotions in check. Carol smiled a little at that and shrugged.

"It took a lot of loss, a lot of pain. And you've had that, too. You just keep going. You just keep breathing. I need to know you won't break down. You won't stop breathing. Because I want to leave this life knowing that you're ok. You're what matters."

"No." Daryl shook his head, getting up from the bed. "Ain't doin' this."

"Please," Carol sobbed, bringing her hand to her mouth as the dam broke. "I need you. I need my husband. Right now. I just need you to hold me and to tell me that it's going to be ok, because I can feel it spreading. I know it won't be long, and I need to feel you for as long as I can, until the end." Daryl nodded, swallowing hard as he sat back down on the bed. "And then I need…" Carol swallowed hard and brushed away her tears. "Then I need you to kill me." Daryl pulled back, but Carol kept her hand on his arm. "Not…not like that. Not what I meant. I just…I need you to not let me turn. The second I'm gone, you do what you have to do. Cry. Scream. Just…just get through it, and then you put that knife through my head. I won't come back. Do you hear me? I won't." Daryl let go then, burying his face against her neck. He clung to her, and she broke down in his arms, letting herself feel the ache in her heart, the longing for a future that no longer existed.

"S'gonna be ok," he choked out. She knew he was trying, and that was all that mattered. She gripped his arms and kissed his neck and his jaw and his cheek, and he held her close, and he let her shatter against him. She let him break, too, and they just held each other, comforting one another, whispering assurances and admissions.

"I didn't accidentally lop off that chunk of your hair that night after the rainstorm. I just wanted to give you a haircut; see you the way you were when I first met you. I'm sorry," she sniffled.

"I knew ya didn't, but I just wanted to feel your fingers in my hair." He chuckled and kissed her forehead. "I didn't really sleep in the bed all night that first night. You were curled up against me, naked and smilin' in your sleep, and I couldn't sleep. I didn't wanna wake ya. I sat in the chair by the bed all night." He nodded toward that chair that was worn from age and use. "I just watched ya sleep. Couldn't believe you were mine."

"I hate venison," she admitted with a laugh.

"What?"

"Hate it. Just disgusting. But you brought it to me, so I ate it. It was food, and it was from you, and I just…I saw how happy it made you to provide for the group. I didn't want to tell you."

"I wanted to die when I saw that walker bite you. Wanted to end it for you right then, end it for myself." His eyes met hers, and she bit her lower lip. "I thought about it. Had two bullets. Just…just didn't want ya to suffer, but you grabbed my hand, and you said 'let's go home,' and I took you home.

"Daryl," she whispered softly, "you're going to be ok."

"You ain't," he choked out. "You're my wife. You're…you've been…" He wiped at his eyes, and she squeezed his hands. "I can't tell you how much…"

"I know," she whispered. "I know." She took a few shaky breaths, and lay back down on the mattress, bringing him with her, sighing softly as he rested his head against her chest. They lay in silence then, and she closed her eyes, feeling the heat rising in her body as the fever began to take control. She brushed her fingers through his hair. "Be ready." He groaned against her neck.

"No," he cried out.

"Don't you dare give up. You hear me?" She trembled as she looked up into his face, seeing the pain, the grief, the complete devastation in his eyes. "You bury me under that willow tree out back. I know Gabriel likes to have everyone out in the cemetery, but I don't want that. I want to be under our tree. I want to be where you can come and talk to me and remember. Can you do that for me?" He nodded. "And I want you to be happy. If that means moving on…"

"I can't. You know I can't," he murmured. "You're the only one I could ever…" He choked back another sob. "You know me."

"I do," she said with a soft smile, closing her eyes. "You've been my hero since the day you went out looking for my little girl." She smiled as his fingers curled around hers. He leaned in, kissing her temple softly as her breaths grew ragged and weak.

"And you're mine," he murmured, stroking her cheek. "It's ok. You can let go, sweetheart." She gave him a little smile before her eyes closed for the last time, and he muffled his cries against one hand and he held her hand in his other. "I love you. I love you. Rest now."

Carol could hear the soft whimpers and feel the brush of his fingers over hers as she quickly began to fade. She couldn't see him anymore, but she could feel him. He was with her, and she was leaving, but it was ok. She'd lived. She'd lived and she'd kept going until she couldn't. She'd fought. She'd pulled from a strength she'd never known she'd had until she'd stood up that night in that bathroom with the glass crackling at her feet. She fought through the worst of it, she'd lived through the best of it, and she'd done it with all of her heart poured into it. She'd truly lived, and it was enough.


End file.
